


You Let Me Violate You

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Consent Play, M/M, Punishment, Sounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-09
Updated: 2011-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complete and total smut written for (and posted anon to) the sherlockbbc_fic kinkmeme in March 2011, for the prompt "John ties Sherlock down onto his bed one evening after a long argument between them, and sounds Sherlock's cock until he screams in pleasure."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Let Me Violate You

**Author's Note:**

> Please check the tags before you read this - it's fairly heavy kink with some begging and consent play going on, though it does take place in the context of a caring consensual relationship.

“This might hurt a bit,” John warned when he came back into the bedroom at last, hands hidden behind his back.

 _Good, yes, get on with it already,_ Sherlock thought, but he didn’t say it; instead he gave a small whimper that could have been construed as fear but was fueled more by impatience. He would have writhed with it if he’d been able, but he was tied down securely to the bed--John had done an admirable job of it this time, made sure Sherlock couldn’t move more than an inch, let alone thrash or buck. Then he’d left the room for half an hour, making Sherlock wait.

At first it had been incredibly soothing to be so immobilised. The burden of volition had been stripped from him along with his clothing, and there was nothing to do but enjoy the buzzing anticipation of John’s return. As the wait had stretched on, though, Sherlock had got more and more keyed-up, wondering what John was going to have in store for him this time.

“Are you still angry with me?” he asked now, knowing the answer already from the set of John’s jawline and the way he held his shoulders. Angry enough to need the release of whatever he was about to do, not so angry he was afraid he’d do real damage. If he were truly furious, Sherlock knew, John wouldn’t allow himself to be in the room with him at all.

“Calmed down some,” John told him. “It was both our faults really. Still, I think some punishment is in order here, don’t you?”

Sherlock bit his lip. “What...what have you got there?”

John moved his hands from behind his back. They were gloved, and in one he held a tube of medical-grade lubricant. The other contained a clear plastic case with what appeared to be several metal rods of varying shapes and thicknesses visible inside.

Sherlock closed his eyes and worked at controlling his breathing. “Is that what I think it is?” He didn’t have to dissemble much to put a tremor into his voice. He’d been dropping hints to John about this for _months_. “Oh god.”

“Like I said, not going to be the most comfortable experiment we’ve tried.” John got onto the bed, settling himself between Sherlock’s spread legs and selecting one of the sounds, holding it up and squinting at it critically before dipping it into the lubricant. “We’ll start with one of the smaller ones, though. Try not to make too much noise; I believe Mrs. Hudson is home tonight, and I don’t want to have to gag you again. Ready?” 

Sherlock made a sort of high-pitched noise, which was all he could manage as John grasped hold of his cock, pushing the foreskin back with practised efficiency and cleaning him off with an antiseptic-soaked pad he’d produced from his pocket.

“Cold,” Sherlock gasped.

“Good,” John said. “So’s this, I imagine.” He picked up the sound and rubbed the slickened tip of it up and down against the opening of Sherlock’s glans. Sherlock whimpered again and went rigid. “Right, in we go,” John went on calmly, and pressed the thin steel rod into him, perhaps an inch deep.

“Oh-- that’s-- _god!_ ” Sherlock cried out, without calculation or intent. It actually didn’t hurt, not exactly, but the sensation of chilly metal sliding relentlessly _in_ made him unexpectedly frantic, and he would have pulled away if he’d been able to.

“Easy there.” John grasped him firmly, and the sound slipped into him another half-inch. “How does that feel?”

Sherlock had no words for another few moments. His hands fisted and unfisted, bound uselessly to the bedframe above his head; his feet flexed so hard his calf muscles ached. “Cold,” he gasped finally. “Hard. _Wrong._ I don’t think I can-- Stop, take it out, John, please!”

John’s eyes darted to Sherlock’s face, and Sherlock sighed and raised his eyebrows the tiniest bit: _No, I haven’t forgotten the safeword, I never forget the safeword, can we stay in the game here, please?_ It had taken ages for John to admit to himself that he liked to hear Sherlock beg as much as Sherlock liked to be made to do it, but he was usually able to give in to the enjoyment of it these days. Today, admittedly, they were trying something new.

“You can take a little more before I pull it out,” John assured him finally. “Just relax. You’ll feel it going in deeper now.” The thing sank into him slowly, heavy and unyielding, until it hit a spot that made sparks strike behind Sherlock’s tightly closed eyelids.

Sherlock made a choking sound. “ _Christ_ that feels strange,” he said, when he could speak again.

“Mm-hm. That went in quite easily, actually. I’m going to keep it in you for a minute here, then pull it out and try something that might stretch you a bit more. Quit squirming,” he added sharply, and gave Sherlock a hard pinch on his hipbone that Sherlock was deeply grateful for, as the pain offered him a new point of focus. “You don’t want the kind of injuries you can get with one of these if you’re not careful, believe me.”

Sherlock was able to keep himself still until John began to draw the sound out of him, at which point John had to kneel on his thighs and hold Sherlock’s hips down with his free hand. “Breathe,” he told Sherlock, seemingly amused. “This is nothing, trust me. Wait till I really get started.” 

The second sound was wider-gauged, as promised, with a wicked little curve at the end, and there was a stretching sort of pain as John worked it into his cock relentlessly, then pulled it back in slow stages, only to plunge it back in just a little deeper than Sherlock would have believed possible. Even when the metal had warmed to his body temperature, the feeling of invasion kept stealing all the air from his lungs over and over again, making him plead breathlessly without knowing what he was saying. _Don’t_ and _Stop_ or _Don’t stop_ ? Both, probably. His body had never felt so confused before in his life. “I need it out,” he begged John. “Just for a minute and then you can put it back, I just--this is intense, I don’t--”

“All right,” John said, “Just for a minute,” and eased the instrument slowly out, forcing an agonized groan from Sherlock’s throat. It felt slightly like coming and slightly like his cock was being turned inside out, and Sherlock bit his lower lip so hard he tasted blood. John wiped it away, felt Sherlock’s pulse, looked at his watch. “Ready?”

The third sound was ribbed. Sherlock began to think he might lose his mind.

This time, after he’d got the sound into him, John squeezed a little more lube onto his gloved right hand and wrapped it around Sherlock’s cock, stroking it to full hardness and tipping the confusing mix of sensations over into pleasure. With his other hand he began fucking Sherlock slowly with the sound, giving it a slight twist when it was in as deep as it would go. The metal bit into him on the inside just enough to register as discomfort. Even so, it didn’t take much of this before Sherlock began to quake, his breath coming short and his body beginning to tighten around the familiar sensation of impending climax.

"Don't," John said, releasing his grasp. "Don't come, I don't want you to come with it inside you--you need to wait. Tell me if you're getting close. Sherlock, can you hear me? You understand?"

Sherlock managed a quavery noise of assent. He was already beginning to feel sweaty and wrung out, as if he'd come once or twice already, but the urgent sense of need gathering in his groin and balls reminded him that he hadn't. His cock was twitching, clenching around the foreign object inside him, trying desperately to expel it, but every time it surged up, John tapped it relentlessly back down, as far as it would go, wiggling it around a bit so that Sherlock could feel every ridge of the thing, stroking and nudging him deep inside.

John toyed with him for endless minutes of this that felt like hours, moving the sound gently in and out, out and in and around until Sherlock thought he'd _have_ to come, then somehow bringing him back from the edge, only to make his need coil up tighter inside him again.

“I think you’ve almost had enough, Sherlock,” he heard John say finally, as if from very far away. A hand brushed the sweat-soaked hair back from his face, and he shivered. “Have you learned your lesson, are we through for now?”

Sherlock nodded frantically. “Please,” he said, and had to swallow before he could get the next words out. “Need to come. Please.”

“All right.” John’s voice was low and patient, soothing. “Just one more thing I’d like to try, first.” The warm gloved hand left the base of his cock, and Sherlock jerked against his bonds involuntarily when he felt it touch him lower down, slick with fresh lube, fingers spreading his buttocks wide and pressing against his entrance. “Hold still,” John said, rubbing gently in testing circles, and then he pushed a finger in.

The stimulation of this second penetration was too much. “John!” Sherlock cried out. “Don’t-- it’s too-- I’m, I’m going to come, I’m-- _Oh!_ ” He could feel his muscles already contracting helplessly around John’s finger, while his erection began pulsing against the metal rod that pierced him to the core. He tried to hold back, but the overlapping waves of building pleasure seized him, shook him, tipped him relentlessly over the edge. John quickly and steadily drew the sound out of him just as he began to come, and the sensation of fluid and metal both surging out of his overfilled cock at once made him throw back his head and scream. 

It was by far the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced--the longest, too; the spasms seemed to go on endlessly. John’s finger was still inside him, pressing firmly against his prostate in rhythmic little pulses, and Sherlock felt his cock jerk again and again, forcing out what seemed like impossible amounts of ejaculate, until he was thoroughly wrecked and devastated by the relentless battering of too much pleasure. He was dimly grateful for the ropes holding him fast to the bed, a tangible reminder of John’s control. John wouldn’t let him fly apart; John was an anchor, with one hand pressed reassuringly to the center of Sherlock’s chest even while the other continued to tease shudders of aftershocks out of him from the inside. 

Sherlock whined in protest when John finally eased his finger out of him, and again a few moments later when the ropes were released--he didn’t want to move, he needed something to keep him tethered, or he’d float away along with his mind, he thought dizzily--but John’s hands were on him again, steady, cleaning him up with a warm, damp cloth. Then John’s whole body was wrapped around Sherlock’s, holding him tight, breathing in and out, slow and steady, until Sherlock’s fast shallow breaths slowed to match his. 

Eventually, bit by bit, Sherlock’s consciousness returned fully to the room. It was always both sad and a relief to begin thinking again. “Your idea of punishment seems counterproductive as a behaviour modification tool,” he murmured. “Aren’t I _more_ likely to want to misbehave again as a consequence?”

“Hmm. You may be right,” John said. “Perhaps we’d better repeat the experiment from the beginning? Kidding,” he added, when Sherlock went tense. “I don’t want to actually break you--not permanently. I did concede that I was at fault, too, though. Perhaps I’m in for a spot of, er...punishment...as well?”

Sherlock shifted a little, gauging his relative soreness and muscle inelasticity versus his body’s Pavlovian response to the feeling of John’s erection pressed insistently against his lower back. Then he rolled swiftly over, trapping John beneath him, eyes glittering. “All right, then,” he said. “Ready when you are.”


End file.
